PR 6027 
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CopV 1 



THE UPSTROKE 



THE UPSTROKE 



A ONE-ACT PLAY 



By 

F. J. NEWBOULT 



COPYRGIHT, 1914, BY SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. 



New York London 

SAMUEL FRENCH 1 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd 
Publisher 26 Southampton Street 

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET j STRAND 



XssUc 

mi 



JAN 27 1914 
©C1.D 35807 



THE UPSTROKE 

Produced by Milton Rosmer, at the Theatre Royal, Leeds, 
December 8, 191 3. 



CHARACTERS. 



Matthew Slowitt 
Sarah Slowitt 
Emma . 
P.C. Scruton 
Mrs. Jerniman 
Joseph Jerniman 
Joe Slowitt. 



Mr. Charles Groves. 
Mrs. A. B. Tapping. 
Miss Doris Bateman. 
Mr. Eric Barber. 
Miss Beatrice Smith. 
Mr. J. H. Roberts. 
Mr. Herbert Lorn as. 



The scene is the kitchen living-room of Mr. Jerniman's 
house, 7 5, Asquith Avenue, Woolford. 



The Fee for each and every representation of this 
play by Amateurs is Fifteen Shillings, payable in 
advance to— * 

Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd., 

23 Southampton Street, 

Strand, London, 

or their authorized representatives. 

No performance may be given unless a written 
permission has first been obtained. 

All the costumes, wigs, and properties used in the 

performance of plays contained in French's list may 

be hired or purchased reasonably from Messrs. 

Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington Street, Strand, 

London. 



THE UPSTROKE 

The characters in the play should not be burlesqued. 

Sarah Slowitt is dressed rather sumptuously, as 
befits a visit to the better -off brother, and in the 
fashion of the year before last. She is a woman 
on the wrong side of forty, rather fat and easiful in 
movement, and her corpulence is accentuated by a 
tight-fitting costume. Matthew is a thickset man, 
rather under the middle height, awkward in movement, 
but rather swaggering. He is dressed in a new tweed 
suit, with a rather gorgeous tie. Occasionally he 
remembers to be careful of this suit, but circumstances 
are too much for him. Mrs. Jerniman is a woman 
of a superior class. She is handsome, in the queenly 
style, with an impressive dignity and graciousness of 
speech and manner which, though lost in the excite- 
ment of her first entrance, are quickly recovered. She 
is dressed quietly, in skirt and blouse of good material 
and well-fashioned. Mr. Jerniman is a jovial good 
fellow, rather tall and well set-up. He wears a black 
frock coat and dark trousers, and carries gold-rimmed 
pince-nez. He is not very drunk, and the spelling 
in the text rather exaggerates the defect of his enuncia- 
tion. Joe Slowitt is a good deal brisker and more 
assured in manner than his brother, his spesch is 
not so rough, and he has the bearing of a man of 
affairs. He is dressed in dark tweeds or blu-: serge. 

7 



THE UPSTROKE. 

As to Mr. Scruton and Emma no comment seems 
needed. They are quite ordinary specimens of 
their classes. As to all the characters the author 
wishes to emphazize his view that they will be presented 
best if no attempt is made to exaggerate their comic 
stage possibilities at the expense of a natural rendering. 
He has endeavoured to describe a thing that might 
have happened, and he would like to have it presented 
in that spirit, rather than in the spirit of stage farce. 

It is about half -past eight o'clock on a Saturday 
evening in early autumn. Mr. Jerniman's kitchen 
is deserted, and the light — a single gas-jet, hanging 
from the ceiling — is turned low. A door on the 
extreme right opens on the cellar-head, where there 
is a sink, with hot and cold water, and shelves for 
pans : and thence a stainvay leads to the cellar. 
Between this and the fireplace, which is about the 
middle of the rear wall, another door leads to the hall. 
When it is open, as at present, the lower part of the . 
bedroom stairway is visible. There is a window 
to the left, looking on the back yard, and the back door 
is further to the left again. 

The fireplace is an ordinary kitchen range, and 
the tipper ribs are let down, forming a rest for the 
kettle, which is singing there. A table, covered 
with a coloured cloth, stands in the middle of the room. 
There are two easy-chairs, one on each side of the fire, 
and several smaller ones. A kitchen dresser, with 
white deal top, stands beneath the window. The 
blind of buff Holland is drawn down. The window 
is slightly open at the top, and a light breeze occa- 
sionally puffs in, bellying out the blind. The rustling 
which this produces, and the light click of the. blind- 
lath as it falls lazily back against the window-frame, 
are for a time the only sounds to be heard. Then 
there is a murmur of voices from the yard, growing 
more distinct. After a time the door is tried, first 
gently, then vigorously. Then there is a loud knocking, 
followed by kicks. 



THE UPSTROKE. 9 

Matthew (without). It's locked, right enough, an' 
ther's noab'dy in. 

Sarah. Then we'll ha' to go back. Ay dear. An' 
ah feel that faint, ah doan'f hnaw wheer to put misen. 
Ah'll just sit dahn on t' steps a minnit, happen it'll 
pass off. 

Matthew. Well, it's a bonny come-off is this, an' 

right. . . . Tha'll get thy deeath o',cowd, lass, cahrin' 

o' t' stones. Hearken, what's that noise ? Aw' t' 

winda's open at t' top, sitha. T' wind's flappin' 

t' blind abaht. Come on, we can get in at t' winda. 

(He pushes up the lower sash, puts the blind aside, and 
looks in.) 

Matthew. Well, nah : that lewks reight com- 
fortable. Come on wi' tha, lass. Aw'll gi'e tha a 
leg up. Tha's nowt to do but climb in onto t' dresser. 
Sitha, ther's t' kettle singing on t' ribs an' all. 

Sarah (looking in, her shoulders just visible above 
the sill). Nay, we'll noan do that, Mattha. We'll 
go back. Ah'm feelin' a bit better, nah. But ah 
sud like a cup o' teea. 

Matthew. Ave, an' tha sail ha' one, lass. Up wi' 
tha. 

(He attempts to lift her, but she clutches the sill.) 

Sarah. Nay, na doan't, Mattha. What does it 
lewk like ? Brekkin' into folk's hahses, that road. 
An' suppose t' bobby copt us ? 

Matthew (pushing her aside, impatiently). Here, 
stand aht o' t' gate then. Ah'm balm in, whether tha 
does or noa. 

(He clambers in at the window, first throwing in his 
billycock hat. He throws his legs over the edge of 
the dresser, and sits, looking round.) 



10 THE UPSTROKE. 

Sarah (in urgent whispers). Come back, Mattha ! 
Mattha ! Does ta heear ? Ah believe ther's sumb'dy 
comin'. 

Matthew (with a jocular, air). Lewk sharp in wi' 
tha, then, afore they come. Here, if tha just pops 
thy heead under t' winda, ah can lift tha right through. 
Deng this blind ! (He lets up the blind, halfway.) 
Nah then, come on. 

Sarah (tempted, but timid). Mattha, hah can ta 
fashion ? What 'ud they think on us ? 

Matthew. Aw, let 'em think what they like. 
They sud be in, when they ass fowk up to see 'em. 
(He takes her by the arms, and tries to lift her in.) 

Sarah. Nay, ad could niver get up theer. Nay, 
let's go back, Mattha. 

Matthew. Ah'm bahn to ha' summat to eyt afore 
ah goa back. Tha wor i' such a fuss to get off, ah'd 
noa teea to meean owt. Here, what are we thinkin' 
on ? Ah can let tha in at t' door. 

(He slides off the dresser, and goes to the door. It is 
locked, and there is no key.) 

Matthew (shouting through the keyhole). Ther's no 
key i' this door. Tha mun go rahnd to t' front, an 
we'll try that. 

Sarah (still at the window). Ah doan't like, Mattha. 
(Coaxingly.) Let's go back home. 

Matthew {irritated). Sewt thisen. Goa back if 
tha likes. Ah'm stoppin' a bit. 

(He goes to the fireplace, puts the kettle on the fire, 
and then begins to search in the cupboards for teapot 
and cups, whistling as he does so. Sarah stands 
irresolutely watching him awhile, then says.) 

Sarah. Well, tha will be stewpid. Ah'll goa 
rahnd to t' front then. 



THE UPSTROKE. 1] 

Matthew. All right, lass. Nah tha'rt talkin' 
sense. 

(He goes out alone the passage, and lets her in.) 

Matthew (speaking as they come in). Na, Sarah, 
dew shut up abaht it. Tha knaws well enough 'at, 
if it wor ahr hahse, an' them 'at wor comin', tha'd 
niver ha' gone aht, an' left 'em wi' a locked door. 

Sarah. No, nor noab'dy wouldn't It isn't 
deacent. 

Matthew. Well, if ther's owt wrong, that's what 
it is. It isn't us gettin' in at t' winda. It's a poor 
look-aht if a chap can't mak a bit free wi' his awn 
brother. 

(Sarah has taken possession of an easy chair, and 
Matthew during this speech, has closed the window, 
adjusted the blind, and picked up his hat. He pro- 
ceeds to set the table.) 

Sarah. Well, ah feel right uneeasy abaht it, 
Mattha. . . . See, that cloth goes t'other way rahnd. 

(She adjusts the table-cloth.) 

Matthew. Na then : ah'd as lief tha did it as me. 

Sarah. Mattha ! Does ta think we've getten to 
t' wreng hahse ? 

Matthew (mocking her tone). Sarah ! Does ta 
think ahr Joa knaws whecr he lives, hissen ? 

Sarah. Softheead ! 

Matthew. Well, tha puts me reyt aht o' patience 
wi' tha, Sarah. (He .pulls a letter out of his pocket.) 
Didn't it say " 73 " on t' door ? An' didn't we cahnt 
t' numbers as we come up t' street ? 

Sarah. Aye, but 

Matthew. Well, nah then. Is that " 73 " o' 
that theer letter, or isn't it ? 



12 THE UPSTROKE. 

Sarah. It lewks like it. 

Matthew. Well, what the hengment more does 
ta want ? 

Sarah. Well, it lewks so queer of 'em bein' aht 
when they've written an' assed us to come. 

Matthew {going on with his preparations). They'll 
ha' gone aht to do a bit o' shopping, happen. 

Sarah. Aye, ah expect that'll be it. They'd be 
wait in' an' waitin', an' think we wor niver comin'. 
Ah wish we'd come i' t' afternoon, same as they 
assed us. 

Matthew (pausing in the act of -filling the teapot, 
teapot in one hand, kettle in the other). Aye,ahthowt 
it 'ud come to that i' a bit. It's alius t' same wi' thee, 
Sarah. Whativer goes wreng, it makes no matter 
what it is, it's my fault. 

Sarah. Well, ah dew think tha might ha' missed 
thy football for a odd week, for t' sake o' thy awn 
brother, 'at tha hasn't seen this monny a year. 

Matthew. Ah wodn't ha' missed yon match, sitha, 
for all t' Joas 'at iver wor. What the hengment 
differ does it mak ? We can stop that much longer. 
Ther's a tram back at half -past twelve, an' it's Sunday 
i* t f mornin'. . . . Nah then (setting the teapot on the 
table), get a drink o' that into tha, wol ah tak a lewk 
rahnd, an' see what ther is to eyt. 

(He takes a candle from the mantelpiece, and lights it.) 

Sarah (pouring herself a cup ot tea). Nay, na 
doan't, Mattha. If ah just get a drink o' teea 

Matthew. Ah tell tha ah'm bahn to ha' summat 
to eyt. Tha can sewt thisen. (He brings a loaf and 
butter from the cellar-head.) Tha can be cuttin' a 
slice or two o' that, wol ah tak a lewk rahnd t' cellar. 
(He goes down the cellar stairs.) 

Sarah (calling after him). Mattha! Tha mustn't! 
Does ta heear ? Tha can do wi' bread an' butter till 
thev come. 



THE UPSTROKE. 13 

Matthew (calling from, cellar). What does ta say 
to a bit o' cowd boiled ham ? 

Sarah. Mattha ! Did anybody iver heear t' 
like? 

(He brings up a boiled ham, a plum cake, and an assort- 
ment of pastry.) 

Sarah. Not a bite. For shame o' thisen, Mattha. 
Tak 'em dahn agean. 

Matthew (sitting to the table, and beginning to carve 
the ham). Just gi'e me a cup o' teea, lass, an' if tha 
wean't ha* noa ham, try what t' cake's like. 

Sarah (pouring the tea) . Ah wean't ha' nowt but a 
bit o' bread an' butter. Eh, but ah feel a lot better, 
by nah. Ah do hoap Joa's wife '11 tak it t' reyt road. 
It maks it all t' awk'arder us not knawin' her. 

Matthew. 'Course she will. Ah haven't tasted 
such a nice bit o' ham, ah can't tell when. It's 
spiffin'. Nah, just let me cut tha t' leeast little bit, 
lass. It'll do tha good. 

Sarah (hesitating). Nay . . .ah. 

Matthew. Nah, ah'll cut tha a nice bit o' leean, 
sitha. (He does so.) 

Sarah. Well, just a taste. . . . That'll dew. Nay, 
ah can't eat all that. 

Matthew (transfering a piece to his own plate). 
Na then. Ther's nowt wasted wheer they keep a 
pig. . . . Nah, isn't it champ ? 

Sarah. It's grand. An wonder if she's done it 
hersen. It's been done wi' a bit o' mace. 

Matthew. Yon cake lewks middlin' an' all. 
Let's see what t' inside's like. (He is about to cut it.) 

Sarah (holding his arm). Nay, Mattha. Ah 
wodn't, when it hasn't been cut into/ She'll be savin' 
it for t' Sunday teea. 

Matthew. Nowt o' t' soart. She'll ha' made it 
o' purpose for us. (He cuts it.) 



14 THE UPSTROKE. 

Sarah. Eh, tha art a wrengheead. What to say 
to 'em when they come, ah don't knaw. Ah sail 
want to run aht o' t' door as soon as ah hear t' key 
i' t' lock. 

Matthew. By gow, lass, ah've hit it ! We'll have 
a bit of alark wi' 'em. When we hear 'em comin' we'll 
turn t' leet dahn, an' hide o' t' cellar-head. Ah'd 
right like to tak a rise aht o' Joa. He alius wor too 
clever to live. 

Sarah. Well, he has summat to be clever abaht, 
Mattha, gettin' on as he has. 

Matthew. Aw aye. Luck's nowt to do wi't, has 
it ? Ah wish ah'd half t' chances he's thrawn away. 

Sarah. Hah long is it sin' he went to Manchester, 
Mattha ? 

Matthew, Let's see. . . . It's three year sin' he 
got wed 

Sarah. Fower. 'Cos it wcr when ah wor laid up 
wi' t' quinseys. That wor why we couldn't go to t' 
weddin'. An' tha knaws 

Matthew. Aye, it will be fower, come to think. 
Well, he'd been i' Manchester just a twelvemonth 
when he got wed. An' he'll ha' been back i' Woolford 
nah very near six month. 

Sarah. Is it so long ? It doesn't look it. Fancy 
an' us never been, nor them to us. It doesn't look 
descent. 

(There is a noise from the yard, and a key turns, after 
some fumbling, in the lock. Matthew and Sarah 
start up, and with a whispered, " Come on " Matthew 
hustles his wife, half -laughing, half -protesting, to the 
cellar-head. He closes the door just as Emma, who 
has had some difficulty with the lock, comes in with 
nervous haste at the back.) 

Emma {speaking as she comes in). I haven't been 
out a minute, ma'am. I just went to post a letter, 
an' — — 



THE UPSTROKE. 15 

(She sees the table spread, and the empty room, and 
stands amazed. She goes to the passage door. 

Emma (calling). Are you upstairs, ma'am ? 

(There is no answer, and after a pause she comes back. 
■ There is a smothered cough from the cellar-head.) 

Emma. Oh-h, it's burglars ! Oh-h ! 

(She rushes out at the back door, and locks it after her. 
After a pause, the cellar door is opened again, and 
Matthew comes out.) 

Matthew (whispering). She's goan. 

(He steals forward on tiptoe, and tries the door.) 

Matthew. She's locked t' door after her. Crikey ! 
To think o' Joa hevin' a sarvent lass ! An' he niver 
let on. 

Sarah (coming out fearfully, and speaking in a 
whisper). Mattha ! She'd ha' gone to fetch a bobby. 
Ee, whativer sail we do ? 

Matthew. Do ? What is ther to do ? We can 
tell him who we are, can't we ? 

Sarah. Let's slip aht at t' front, an' goa home. 

Matthew. Gow ! It 'ud serve 'em right. Joa'd 
think they'd had t' burglars i' t' hahse. An' we could 
keep t' joke up as long as we'd a mind. 

Sarah. Come on then. Ah don't feel as if ah 
could face it aht, nah. 

(They are moving towards the passage when the front 
door bangs. They start back.) 



Mrs. Jerximax (from the passage). It's me 
Emma. I'll be down in a minute. Put the kettle on , 



16 THE UPSTROKE. 

and we'll have supper. The~master may be late." 
(She goes upstairs to " take off her things.") 

Matthew. That's be Joa's wife. She sahnds like 
a bit of a toff. Ah wonder wheer Joa is. Did ye heear 
what she said: — " T' maister may be late."? 

Sarah. Mattha, ah don't think it is Joa's wife. 
We've getten into t' wreng hahse. 

Matthew. Ah wish tha'd talk sense, Sarah. 
He said " 73 " an' it is 73. What more does ta 
want ? All t' same, it 'ud eba bit awk'ard explaining 
to her, an' him not theer. Come on, we'll hook it. 

Sarah. Ee, ah darsen't, nah. If she copt us i' t' 
passages 

(A policeman's whistle is heard at the back. Matthew 
and Sarah start first one way, then the other, and at 
last, with a muttered curse from Matthew, they 
again go to the cellarhead. The back door is opened, 
and Emma, closely followed by Mr. Scruton, who 
has the air of a gallant protector of distressed beauty, 
comes in. They have no sooner entered than Mrs. 
Jerniman comes in from the passage. She looks 
from the spread table to the interesting couple at 
the door, first with incredulity, then with amazed 
horror.) 

Emma. Oh, ma'am, there's burglars in the 

house 

Mrs. Jerniman. You shameless hussy ! Well — I 
— never — did ! You-you — oh-h ! 

(She takes Emma by the arm, shakes her violently, 
and ends by giving her a box on the ear. Emma 
screams, bursts into tears, and sinks into a chair, 
sobbing.) 

Scruton. Come, come, missis, draw it mild ! 
Mrs. Jerniman (turning to him, angrily). You get 



THE UPSTROKE. 17 

out of my house ! And you'll be reported, sir. You 
will, so. First thing on Monday morning, if I live 
to see it. And you stand there and face it out ! 
Impudence ! Get out of my house. This minute ! 
Scruton. Oh, I'll get out fast enough. If you 
ask her, she'll tell you she fetched me because there 

were burglars 

Mrs. Jerniman. She'll tell me ! I've — no- 
doubt — she will ! (She turns savagely to Emma.) 
And I suppose the burglars have been eating the ham ? 
And the cake that you very well knew was for to- 
morrow's tea — and the minister coming ? Nothing 
less would suit you for your fancy man. 

Scrutox. I'll trouble you to keep a decent tongue 
in your head, missis. I'm a married man, With a — — ■ « 
Mrs. Jerniman. More shame to you ! More 
shame to you ! And I'm sorry for your wife. 

Scruton. I've touched none o' your stuff. I've 

only just come in this minute to 

Mrs. Jerniman. I want none o' your lies. Oat 
you go. We'll see what the chief constable says to 
this. 

Scruton. See who you like. I've touched no- 
thing o' yours, an' I don't want 

Mrs. Jerniman (stamping). Get out. 
Scruton. Oh I'll go fast enough. (He goes.) 
Mrs. Jerniman. Yes, and you'll go too, in tfc 
morning. Not another day will I have [you in the 
house. Shameless, brazen, good-for-nothing! Oh, 
I have been deceived in you ! And I wondered how 
it was that we were using three pounds of butter a 
week, and four. pounds of sirloin in two days. I 
wondered. Silly, simple, trusting woman that I was ! 
And the liberty you've had ! And the things I've 
given you. But I'll tell you what, Miss, you'll never 
get another place as easy. No, indeed. Prison is 
the place for you. And if I didn't think of your 
mother, it's where you'd go now. But you leave in 
the morning. You do so. 



18 THE UPSTROKE. 

.(This harangue is thrown at Emma over Mrs. Jerni- 
man 's shoulder, as that lady marches to and fro across 
the kitchen in angry excitement. Dumg the course 
cf it Emma's sobbing gradually subsides, and she sits 
sullenly, biting the hem of her handkerchief. But 
at Mrs. Jerniman's last words she starts up suddenly.) 

Emma. I'll go now. Pay me my month's wages 
an' I'll go. Mean suspicioning old thing you are ! 
I wouldn't stay, not if you was to go down on your 
bended knees, so there \ Give me my wages, an' I'll 
go now. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Wages? Not a penny ! Wages 
for thieving and lying ! Prison is the wages you de- 
serve. 

Emma (half-crying but defiant). I don't care what 
you say. I'll have my wages or else. . . . Well 
see who goes to prison. FU go straight down to the 
police office this minnit. (She makes for the door.) 

Mrs. Jerniman {standing in her way, and speaking 
with control and decision). You don't go out of this 
door to-night, Emma. In the morning, when I've 
had a look in your boxes, you can go where you 
please. 

(Emma attempts to push past her. Mrs. Jerniman 
sets her foot against the door, and seeks the key.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. Where's the key to this door ? 

(Emma, without reply, again attempts to push past Iter. 
Mrs. Jerniman takes her by the shoulders, and 
pushes her back into her chair.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. You'll stay there and do as I 
bid you. Where's the key to this door ? 

(Emma makes no reply.) 



THE UPSTROKE. 19 

Mrs. Jerniman. Did yon hear me} Where's the 
key to this door ? 
Emma. Seek it. 

(Mrs. Jerniman, with a withering look at Emma, 
turns io do so. After looking about the floor, she 
notices the end of the barrel of the key protruding 
from the lock. She opens the door, and takes out 
the key.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. Oh, so you (She hesitates, 

considering.) So you hadn't 

(She closes the door, locks it, and then stands doubt- 
fully awhile, the key in her hand. Then she draws 
up a chair beside the girl, and sits down facing her.) 

Mrs. Jerniman (speaking gently and gravely). 
Emma, what does it all mean ? (Emma, without 
reply, bursts into tears again). Emma, I've tried to 
do my duty by you as if you were my own daughter, 
and I thought you were a good girl. I'd never ha' 
thought this of you. Now, it's no use carrying. on 
that way, like a great baby. If it was a little thing 
I'd overlook it, an' glad. And, as I told you when 
you came, Emma, if it was a respectable man you weie 
engaged to be married to, you could bring him into 
tea when it was convenient, and you'd asked me 
beforehand. But to bring a man in on the sly when 
I was out ! And a married man, too ! Emma, you 
must be a downright bad girl. 

(Emma remains silent, sobbing occasionally, but looking 
sullen and defiant.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. If you'd tell me the whole truth 
about it, Emma, and if there was anything to excuse 
it 



20 THE UPSTROKE. 

Emma. You won't believe me, so what's the good ? 

Mrs. Jerniman. I'll believe you if you tell the 
truth, Emma. It's no use telling cock-and-bull 
stories that a child could see through. Here I go out 
to the meeting, and it's quite understood that you're 
not to leave the house till I come back. I suppose 
you'll say that you never did go out ? 

Emma. Yes I did. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Oh you did ? I can quite be- 
lieve • that, Emma. Where did you go ? 

Emma. To ... to post a letter. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Oh indeed, I thought you'd been 
out to post your letters in the afternoon. Who have 
you been writing to again, Emma? . . . Did you hear 
me ask a question ? If you want me to believe you, 
you must tell me all about it. 

Emma. / don't care. Pay me my wages and I'll 
go. | 

Mrs. Jerniman. I shall pay you no wages, Emma, 
as things are. Not a penny. And you can't make 
me. Not with a tale like that. Burglars ! W T hen 
I come home earlier than you thought, because the 
meeting was put off, and find you with your hat and 
coat on, and a policeman with his arm round you 

Emma. That's a lie ! So there. He never did. 
Only I was frightened of the burglars, and he just 
took hold of my arm, like. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Burglars indeed ! And just 
look at this table ! You went out to post a letter — 
it wouldn't take you five minutes — and when you 
came back, the burglars had made the tea, and the 
burglars had laid the table, and the burglars had 
eaten half the cake and two plates of ham — yes, two 
plates. 

(There is a crescendo of anger in this speech, and at 
the end of it she takes up the two dirty plates, bangs 
them down on the table before the girl, and concludes, 
bitterly . . .) 



THE UPSTROKE. » 21 

Mrs. Jerniman. It's pretty plain who the bur- 
glars were, Emma. You and your fancy man. 
Emma (furious). You old pig! 

(What she really s " bitch," but that is not 

allowed on the stage.) 

Mrs. Jerniman (in a dreadful voice). Emma ! 

Emma. You are ! Nasty-minded old thing. TV: ink 
everybody's like yourself. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Silence, you — you abominable 
hussy. 

Emma No, nor I won't silence neither I've had 
enough of you I'm as good as you an' better I 
don't go about making up nasty lies about people to 
tell at the mother's meeting. But you can tell 'em 
what you like. 

Mrs. Jernimax (rising, with recovered dignity). 
That will do, Emma. I won't talk to you any more. 
Take off your hat and coat, clear that table, and take 
t the things into the cellar. 

(Emma, in whom the habit of obedience is strong, rises 
and slowly takes off her hat and coat, and hangs them 
on a hook behind the door. Mrs. Jerniman in 

the meantime sets the pots in order for removal.) 

Mrs. Jernimax. A nice cake to put on the table 
to-morrow ! 

(Emma brings the trav, then recollects her first alarms. 
She makes a movement towards the cellar door, then 
comes back and sits down.) 

Emma. I'm not going in that cellar. 

Mrs. Jerximax. Is the girl crazy ? Take the 
things down as I bid you. Do you hear me ? Take 
the things down. 



22 THE UPSTROKE. 

'Emma. You can take 'em down yourself. Then 
you'll see who's lying. An' if they m-murder you 
(sob) it's your own fault (sob) an' a good riddance. 

Mrs. Jerniman (impressed, but unwilling to show it). 
Oh, I suppose this is to brazen it out. Very well. 
I'll take them. 

(She opens the cellar door. As she does so, a loud crash 
of breaking glass is heard from the cellar.) 

Emma (terrified). Oh, don't go, ma'am. They'll 
murder us both. Oh don't. 

(She runs first to the back door, then into the passage 
calling, " Police, Police/" Mrs. Jerniman -, who is 
quite cool, listens a moment at the cellar-head, then 
calmly locks the cellar door, takes the distracted girl 
by the arm, makes her sit down again, and sits beside 
her.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. Now, Emma, I've locked them 
in, if they're there, and they can't come to hurt us. 
Try to calm yourself. Don't be a baby. Come now, 
tell me all about it. If I've judged you wrong I'm 
sorry, but you can see yourself how bad it looks. 
Emma. . . . Come. You went out to — post a letter, 
was it ? ... an then ? 

Emma (quite coived). Please, ma'am, I will tell 
the truth, ma'am. Oh-h, they're coming ! 

Mrs. Jerniman. Be quiet, you foolish child. 
Can't you see, I want to know all about it, so's I shall 
know what to do. Nobody can hurt you. Well, 

you went out to ? 

, Emma. I went to the pictures, ma'am. Only for 
ten minutes. 

Mrs. Jerniman. No. Half an hour, at least, 
Emma. The truth ! 

Emma. P'r'aps it was a bit longer than I thought, 
but it didn't seem no time, hardly. An' when I got 



THE UPSTROKE. 23 

back there was a light in the kitchen, an' I thought 
it must be you come home, an' I just unlocked the 
door an' 

Mrs. Jerniman. Are you sure you'd locked the 
door when you went out ? 

Emma. Oh yes, ma'am. Certain sure. An' I 
looked in, an' the table was like it was when you came, 
an' nob.'dy there. An' I went in the passage an' 
called, thinking you might be upstairs, an' nob'dy 
answered. An' then there was a noise on the crllar 
head like somebody coughing. An' I ran out again, 
an' locked the door behind me, an' fetched a police- 
man. Oh-h ! 

(The scream responds 10 another crash from the cellar.) 

Mrs Jerniman (quite cool) Well, you'd better go 
and fetch him again, Emma. 

(Emma rises with alacrity, then sits dozen again.) 

Emma. He wouldn't come. (Tragically). Not 
after what's passed. 

Mrs. Jerniman. H'm. Well I suppose it would 
be rather awkward. I'd better go myself. 

(She is preparing to do so, when Emma falls on he/ knees 
beside her, grabbing her skirts.) 

Emma. Oh no, ma'am. Please, please don't go. 
ma'am. Don't leave me by myself.- Oh, whatever. 
shall we do ? 

Mrs. Jerniman. Get up, you silly girl. They 
wouldn't hurt you. It isn't you they want. And 
ten to one they're as frightened as you are. Didn't 
you hear them breaking the cellar window, trying to 
get out ? Come, come, Emma. Well, we'll both go, 
then. Will that satisfy you ? Come along. 



24 THE UPSTROKE. 

(She soothes Emma, who wipes hey eyes, and puts on her 
hat. Mrs. Jerniman takes a tweed cap from behind 
the door, and they both go out at the back, locking the 
door after them. There is a short interval of silence, 
then the cellar door is tried front within, at first 
gently, then with sJtaking and kicks.) 

Matthew {front the cellarhead). Hellow ! Hellow ! 
Hellow there ! Let us aht. It's all a mistak. We 
aren't burglars at all 

Sarah. Please let us aht. We'll go to t' lock-up if 
you like. Is ther noab'dv theer ? Hellow ! 

(The front door bangs, and the voice of Mr. Jerniman 
is heard from the passage.) 

Mr. Jerniman (calling). 'S all ri'. 'S me. 'Ve 
come home early. 

(He comes into the kitchen, steadying himself occasion- 
ally by clutching the furniture. He reaches the table 
by a rather erratic route, and inspects, with amused 
surprise, the laden tray.) 

Mr. Jerniman. Thash funny. 'S that tea, or is 
it shupper ? (He sings.) 

" I feel like one who treadsh alone 
A banquet hall dezhe-e-e-ek." 

(In his natural voice.) "Deserted." 'Sh funny. 
(He goes across to the passage, and calls up the stairs.) 
Mar-i-a ! 

(The last syllable quavers off ridiculously. He tries 
again, producing a startling volume of sound. There 
is more noise at the cellarhead. He raises his hand, 
asking silence.) 



THE UPSTROKE. 25 

Sh-h ! . . . Listen ! . . . Mush be out. (He returns 
to the table.) Maria, whash thish I find ? Thish the 
way you carry on when I go out ? Nice way to 
shet a table ! Call thish tea, or call it shupper ? 
Whatimesh it ? 

(He steadies himself with his back to the table, pulls 
out his watch, and examines it gravely.) 

Mr. Jerximax. Small hand saysh nine, large 
hand saysh — which ish larzhan' ? Thatsh not a 
watch. 'Sh a barometer. (He taps the faec.) 'Sh 
going up. Shet fair. (The kicking at the door is 
resumed. He drops the watch, which dangles from, 
its chain.) Hello! Whatsh that ? Whosh there ? 
Thash wrong door. 

(He goes to the door, and tries to speak through the 
keyhole, securing his balance with difficulty. He 
takes out the key, and lets it drop on the floor.) 

Matthew. Hellow ! Let us aht. Oppen t 
door. 

(Mr. Jerxtmax very carefully gets down on to his knees, 
in order to speak through the keyhole. He shouts 
at the top of his voice.) 

Mr. Jerximax. Go 'way. 'Sh wrong door. 
Visitors front, tradespeople back. Go 'way. Oh I 
shay — stop a minute ! . . . Hello ! — are you there ? 
'Sh that the exchange ? Hello ! 

Matthew. Hellow ! For God's sake let us aht 
o' this. 

Mr. Jerximax (very politely). I shay, would you 
mind telling me whash tifnesh ? Wash . . . watchek 
. . . gone wrong. Turned into a b'rometer. 

Matthew. Ah can't mak aht what ye say. Oppen 



26 - THE UPSTROKE. 

t' door an' then. (Kicking.) It isn't Joa, is it ? 
Joa ! Is it thee, Joa ? It's Mattha an' Sarah. 

Mr. Jerniman (to himself) . Thash nice way to talk. 
{Imitating Matthew.) " Jo-ah . . . 'Sh Mattha." 
Dam f'miliar. Comesh of educating lower classes. 
(Shouts at the keyhole.) You're very rude person. 
Teach you to call me " Jo-ah " My namesh Jerni- 
man. Misther Jerniman. Joseph Jerniman csh-quive. 
Call me Joah again, fetch policeman. Go 'way, 
Mattha ! 

Matthew. Damn it, let us aht yc druffen fooil, 
whoiver ye are ! 

Mr. Jerniman (on his feet). Naughty — oh, naughty ! 
L heard you say it. Oh you naughty man. 'Sh 
lucky for you my wife's not in. Can't allow that sort 
of language you know, Matthew. Musht be a low 
fellow, Matthew. Don't want t' make your 'quain- 
tance. Go 'way. (Putting his thumbs in his waist- 
coat armholes, and adjusting his pince-nez.) Any 
c'munications mush be made through my sholishtor. 

Sarah (shouting through keyhole). Please, Mr. 
Jerlyman, do let us aht. It's all a mistake. We've 
got into t' wrong hahse. 

Mr. Jerniman (chuckling) . Oh-h ! 'Sh a lady 
(Stoops to keyhole.) All ri' ma'am. Anything I can 
do, 'm sure. Delighted. Sorry Mrs. Jerniman's 
not at home. 'Spect her back shortly. (Stands 
aside, bowing.) Come in. Come in. (Bursts into 
song.) " Come into the garden, Maud." 

Matthew. Oppen t' door, can't ye ? 

Sarah. Please open the door ! 

Mr. Jerniman. Allri'. Wait a minute. Wheresh 
key ? 

(He goes on his knees to seek it, groping with wide sweeps 
of the arms. The search soon becomes languid, 
and by the time he reaches the table he has forgotten 
all about it.) 

Mr. Jerniman (sleepily). 'Sh all ri', Maria. 



THE UPSTROKE. 27 

(He rolls under the tabic and begins to snore. The 
kicking at the door is renewed. Matthew attempts 
to force it open, and at last succeeds, and he and 
Sarah tumble into the room. Matthew's coat is 
covered with patches of whitewash, his trousers are 
torn. There is an angry swelling over his temple, 
and his left hand is bound in a bloody handkerchief. 
Sarah is in rather better plight, but she is also covered 
with whitewash, her hat is awry, and her hair in 
disorder.) 

Matthew. Come on, let's get aht o' this. 

(Sarah is attempting to make herself more presentable, 
when the back door oqens. She rushes after Matthew 
into the passage. Joe Slowitt enters at the back, 
followed by Mrs. Jerniman and Emma.) 

Joe (looking round). They've got oat, seemin'ly 
Mrs. Jerniman. He How, they've smashed t' lock- 

(The front door bangs.) 

Emma. Oh-h, they're at the front ! 
Joe. It's all right, lass. T' policeman '11 dealwi' 
'em there. Aw, ther's one of 'em here, any way m 

(He takes Mr. Jerniman by the protruding legs, and 
pulls him from under the table.) 

Mr. Jerniman. AOW ! Leggo my leg ! 

Joe. Aw, it's Jerniman. (He lifts him, struggling, 
on to a chair.) 

Mr. Jerniman. Let me 'lone. Go 'way. 'Sh 
wrong door. Vishtors front, trade 

(He catches Mrs. Jerniman 's look, fixed sternly upon 
him, and becomes at once quiet and submissive.) 



28 THE" UPSTROKE. 

Mr. Jerniman 's 'S all right, Maria. Come home 
early, clear. Very pleasant evening. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Disgusting ! I'm ashamed vou 
should see him in this state, Mr. Slowitt. 

Joe. Oh, it's novvt fresh, Mrs. Jerniman. Ah 
mean 

Mrs. Jerniman. I'm afraid you're right. 

Joe Ah didn't mean that. What ah meant was 
'at anybody maybe overta'en, once i' away. Come, 
pull yourself together, old chap. Ye're goin' to 
loise your watch see ye. 

{He puts Mr. Jerniman's watch in its pocket. Mr. 
Jerniman pulls it out again.) 

Mr. Jerniman. Thash funny thing, Slowitt. / 
thought it was a watch. You thought it was a watch. 
Tishn't a watch. 'Sh a b'rometer. (He taps the face.) 
Jush look at it. Shet fair, an' goin' up like . . . 
like a damned aeroplane. Beg ' pardon, Maria. 
Shlipped out. Meant to shay, an ek-egshlent 
aeroplane. 

(A policeman's whistle sounds without.) 

Joe. Ah, he's got 'em. He's blawin' for help. 
Ah'd best go an' see, Mrs. Jerniman. Ah'll come 
back, an' let ye knaw how we go on. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Do, please, Mr. Slowitt. 

(Joe goes out by the passage.) 

Mr. Jerniman (pointing to the table). Maria, 'sh 
that tea, or is it shupper ? What timesh shupper ? 

Mrs. Jerniman. Take those things away, Emma. 
(Emma looks at her, appealingly.) Oh well, never 
mind. Clear the pots, at any rate. 

Mr. Jerniman. Maria, I ashed you shivil quesh 



THE UPSTROKE. 29 

Mrs. Jerniman (cold and impressive). I think 
you'd better go straight upstairs to bed. 

(He moves towards the passage with an injured, crest- 
fallen air. At the door he turns, and says, gravely.) 

Mr. Jerniman. Maria, theresh lady in cellar. 
Might let her out. 

(He goes out, and, stumbling up the stairs, reclines on 
them. Emma shuts the door.) 

Mrs. Jerniman. Oh-h ! 

EmmA (running to her). Oh, ma'am, whatever is it ? 

Mrs. Jerniman (who has sunk into a chair, gasping.) 
There were no burglars, Emma. It was my — 
husb — husband and a wo — wo — oh-h ! 

(She sinks her head on her anus on the table, sobbing. 
Emma goes on her knees beside her, and timidly tries 
to console her.) 

Emma. Don't take on like that, ma'am. Don't 
ma'am, don't. I'm sure it isn't what you think,. 

Mrs. Jerniman (raising her face, and speaking with 
dry, quivering lips.) Oh, Emma, never, never, never- 
get married. 

Emma. Now, don't, ma'am. 

Mrs. Jerniman. It's all heartache and misery. 

Emma (sobbing in sympathy). Oh, ma'am, and 
him that fond of you. 

Mrs. Jerniman. I th-thought he Moved me. 

Emma. Oh, ma'am. 

Mrs. Jerniman. I knew he was weak and — 
and 

Emma. Oh, don't ma'am. Please ma'am. It'll 
all come right. 
Mrs. Jerniman. But I never thought he'd bring 
' a wo -woman. 



30 THE UPSTROKE. 

(She breaks down sobbing.) 

Emma. It'll all come right, ma'am, like it did wi' 
me. Look what you thought o' me, ten minutes 
since. 1 Oh, ma'am, I'm sure the master isn't that kind. 
Girls can tell, ma'am. He never so much as offered 
to kiss me, nor anything. 

There is a sound of scuffling from the passage. Mrs. 
Jerniman and Emma start up, and try to compose 

themselves.) 

Matthew (from the passage). Wheer's my wife ? 
Ah telled ye ah'd come quiet. What's t' use o' 
shovin' fowk abaht, that road ? 

Joe. Get on wi' tha. Folia thy noas. T bobby's 
lookin' after t' woman. 

(Joe runs Matthew t into the kitchen, holding him by 
breeches and scruff . Sarah and P. C. Scruton 
follow, and Mr. Jerniman, over whose legs they 
have stumbled, brings up the rear.) 

Joe. This chap says he can explain things, Mrs. 
Jerniman, so I thought we'd happen best give him 
t' chance. 

Sarah. Please ma'am, can ah sit dahn a minute ? 
Ah'm feelin' reyt faint. 

(She puts her hand to her side, reeling. Mr. Scruton 
supports her. Emma, on a nod from Mrs. Jerniman, 
places a chair. Matthew is mopping his temple 
with his unwounded hand.) 

Joe. Nah then , lad. What has ta to say for thisen ? 
. . . Well — ah'll . . . goa . . . to blazes! If it isn't 
ahr Mattha ! Tha gurt gawmless fooil. What i' 
t' name o' creation has ta had up nah ? 



TH^ UPSTROKE- 31 

Matthew. It's all thy fault, Joa, an' nab'dy 
else's. 

Joe (laughing). Na then, lad. Putitdahn to me, 
if tha's a mind. Ah didn't knaw ah'd gi'en tha that 
black e'e, but it's a reyt un. It does me credit. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Are these people friends of yours, 
Mr. Slowitt ? 

Joe (turning, sees Sarah). An' Sarah an' all! 
Nay, Sarah, Ah did think 

Sarah. It is thy fault Joe. 

Joe. Aw, aye ? . . . It's my brother Mattha an' 
his wife, Mrs. Jerniman. They should ha' come to our 
house to tea, but what they're doin' here is more nor 
I can ted ye. 

Matthew. Ah'm reyt sorry to put ye abaht like 
this, ma'am, but 

Scrutox (coming forward, and producing a note- 
book). Before you begin, my man . . . anything 
you say may be used in evidence against you. 

Matthew (sullen). All reyt. Ah'll say nowt. 

Sarah. Mattha, tha hesn't a bit o' sense. 

Joe. By gow, Sarah, it's ta'en tha a time to finnd 
that aht. Ah could ha' telled tha that twenty year 
sin'. 

Sarah. Well, it is your fault Joe. He directed 
us wrong, ma'am 

Joe. Ah directed ye wrong ? What does ta 
meean, Sarah ? 



(Mr. Scrutox has been standing awkwardly, note-book 
in hand. Mrs. Jerniman, during this conversation 
beckons to him. She whispers something, there is 
the chink of a coin, and he goes out.) 

Sarah. Yes, ye said number 73. This is 73, 
isn't it ? 

Mr. Jerniman (waking up). He's forgot the 
number. Losh people do. There'sh a song about it. 



32 THE UPSTROKE. 

(Turning to Joe, gravely.) Slowitt, you should do 
like me — have a meenomonic-ek. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Joseph ! 

Mr. Jerniman. 'Sh all right, Maria. 'Sh a good 
thing. 

Mrs. Jerniman. Joseph, be silent. 

Mr. Jerniman. Slowitt, I appeal t' you, as man 
to man, ish this proper way to treat a fellow ? 'Sh 
disgraceful. 

Joe {with a knowing glance round). Out with it lad. 
Let's have your nimmonic, or whatever ye call it. 

Mr. Jerniman. 'Sh this way. I'm thirty-seven, 
house is seventy-three. Just turn it round. 

Joe. It 'ud be no good to me, lad. Mine's thir- 
teen, an' ah shall never see thirty-one again, more's 
t' pity. 

Mr. Jerniman. Thirteen's unlucky. 

Matthew. It is an' all. Ah niver believed i' that 
afore, but ah do nah. 

Mrs. Jerniman. But I don't understand 

Matthew. Well, wi' him sendin' us to 73 

Joe. Who ? Me ? Ah niver did. 

Matthew. Tha did, an' ah '11 prove it. 

Joe. Tha'll have a job. 

Mrs. Jerniman. But how did you (She finds 

the question awkward to put, and merely indicates the 
ham and cake, with a nod and a wave of the hand.) 

Sarah. Well ye see, Mrs. Jerlymum, we should 
ha' come i' t' afternoon, an' if we had, as ah telled 
Mattha, this wouldn't ha' happened. But ye knaw 
what men is, he would be contrary, an' he went to t' 
football match 

Joe (to Matthew). Tha went to t' match ? That's 
one to me. T' wife wanted me to stop at home, 'cos 
ye wor comin' to yer tea, an' ah telled her ah'd bring 
ye back wi' me. Ah lewkt aht for ye an' all, but ah 
couldn't spot ye. 

Mrs. Jerniman (to Joe, smiling). I'm not getting 
any nearer to an explanation, Mr. Slowitt. . . . 



THE UPSTROKE. 33 

Emma, run down in the cellar, and fetch a bottle of 
the rhubarb wine. (Emma goes.) You'll have a glass 
of wine, Mrs. Slowitt ? It's my own make. I'm sure 
you must be quite upset. 

Sarah (rather overcome). Thank you, it's verv kind 
of ve, Mrs. Jermymum, but happen ye won't feel t' 
same when ye've seen yon cellar. Ther's a winda 
broken wheer we tried to get aht an' couldn't, for t' 
grate bein' soddered up, an' a big bottle o' scahrin' 
likker 

Matthew. Do hod thv din, Sarah. We'll make 
owt good 'at we've damaged. 

Mrs. Terniman. I daresay it isn't very serious, 
but I don't understand 

Matthew. Ye see ma'am it wor this way. We 
didn't ha much of a tea wi' bein' i' such a hurrv to 
get off, an* we got to t' wrong hahse, an' fun' a locked 
door 

Mr. Terniman. It wash wrong door "Resh- 
pectable peonle don't come to cellar door. Vishtors 
front, tradesh — (He meets his wife's eye.) 'Sh all 
right, Maria. 

Mrs. Tfrniman. Go on, Mr. Slowitt. 

Matthew. Well, she hasn't been so well for a bit, 
hasn't t' wife here, an' what wi' comin' fower mile o' 
t' tram — ye see we live right at t'other end o' t' 
tahn 



(Dvr ; ng Matthew's speech, sounds of sneezing from 
t l e cellar have increased in volume. At this point 
Emma comes in, set* the candle and a bottle of wine 
on the foor, and holds her apron to her face.) 



Emma. It's that — atisha — ammonia — atisha. . . 
T cellar's full of it. 

Matthew. Ah'm reyt sorry, lass. Ah knocked t' 
bottle over when ah wor tryin' to get aht o' t' winda. 



34 THE UPSTROKE. 

an' it started rollin' off t* sink, an' ah collared hod on 
it, an' ah slipped an' fell wi' my head a?ean t' mangle. 
Joe. Ah'll be bahnd for tha. If ther is a clumsy 
way o' doin' owt, tha'll find it. 

Matthew. 'Na, Joa, thee shut up wol ah've done, 
an' ah'll leave it to them 'at 's here to say who's fault 
it is. As ah wor sayin' mum, t' wife wor that upset 
she wanted to sit dahn a bit, an' t' winda wor oppen 
at t' top, an' ah thowt ther'd be nowt wrong — niver 
dreamin' but what it wor Joa's hahse, an' them 
slipped aht for a bit o' shdppin' or summat o' that 
—if we just got in an' sat us dahn wol they come 
back. An' then ther wor t' kettle o'' t' hob>. an' 
she wor faint an' ah wor peckish 

Joe. Tha wor niver owt else sin' ah've knawn tha. 

Mrs. Jerniman. But how did you get into the 
cellar, Mr. Slowitt ? 

Matthew (sheepishly). It wor a bit of a joak. 
Ah thowt we'd ha' Joa on, an' make him think ther 
wor burglars i' t' hahse. 

Joe. Aye, it wor a bright idea o' thine, wor that. 
Tha'll try that on agean, ah sud think. 

Matthew (pulling out letter). Na, Joa, tha's had a 
deeal to say, just thee look here. Is that thy writin' ? 

Joe. It looks like it. 

Mathew. What number does ta call that at t' 
top? 

Joe. Thirteen, what does tha call it ? 

Matthew. Thirteen ! Thirteen ! (Holding the 
letter up for general inspection). He calls that thir- 
teen ! What's that theer mark at t' front o' t' one 
for, then ? 

Joe. Wha, tha cawfheead, it's nobbud t' upstroke. 

Matthew. He calls that a supstroke ! 

Joe (with his hand on Matthew's shoulder). 
Niver heed, lad. Ah'll give in to thee i' upstrokes. 
This here job is t' upstroke of all. Tha's getten a 
upstroke o' that e'e o' thine, 'at beats owt ah iver 
did. Come on dahn to number thirteen, wi' tha, thee 



THE UPSTROKE. 30 

an' Sarah, an' we'll see if we can't fettle ye up a bit 
an' tha can lig t' blame o' me if tha likes. 
* Matthew (as Sarah (staking leave of Mrs Jerni- 
man). T upstroke, begow I T upstroke ! 



(Curtain. 



L:. . Printed by Butler & Tanner, Fronc ani London 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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